


The Color of the Grave is Green

by DoreyG



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Blood As Lube, Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Fucking in the Blood of Their Enemies, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: He's sitting in a pool of blood. None of it is his, he thinks, but it's a bit hard to tell at the moment.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Writing Rainbow Green, Writing Rainbow Make Up Round





	The Color of the Grave is Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormyDaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/gifts).



He's sitting in a pool of blood. None of it is his, he thinks, but it's a bit hard to tell at the moment. His hand is still clenched around the knife, so tight that his fingers are starting to ache from the pressure. The body of the person- creature he killed is lying a few feet away, so mangled that it resembles nothing more than a useless sack of meat.

"Martin!" Jon was off recording a statement, witnessed none of it. He sprints over now at top speed, his hair flying out behind him and his eyes wide with concern behind his glasses. " _Martin_."

He isn't quite sure how to feel about that concern. Part of him preens underneath it, another part recoils from it as entirely undeserved. It isn't really a surprise, he's not sure how to feel about anything at the moment. In the end he settles for no outward display of emotion, simply turns his face up instead. "Jon."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't think-" Jon skids in the blood a little, there's _so much_ blood, and comes to a shuddering halt. Hesitates for only a moment, before kneeling down in front of him and cupping his face in both hands. "Are you alright?"

There are a thousand true answers to that, and he wants to give none of them. He gives a dry swallow, hearing his throat click painfully, and settles for another lie. "I'm fine."

It doesn't work. Jon knows everything, Jon knows him in a way that would've made him jump in giddy glee a few years ago. Jon's eyes narrow, focus on him in a way that never indicates good things ahead. "You're quite obviously not. What happened?"

"Nothing," he says, and his voice emerges worryingly toneless. Great, that's going to convince his all seeing boyfriend that everything is fine and dandy and he shouldn't worry about a single thing. "Nothing much, I mean. A creature approached while you were recording a statement, it decided that I looked tasty and attacked, I defended myself… I don't want to talk about it, really."

"I think we have to," Jon says softly, concern - longed for and loathsome all at once - shining from him, and gently reaches out to pry the knife from his numb fingers. "I just want to make sure that you're alright, Martin. That's all. "

There's a vicious stab of pain in his hand, blood rushing back in and bringing his flesh to life again. He hates it, quite suddenly and viciously. He glares at Jon despite himself, wanting both knife and numbness back. "I said that I was fine."

"It's perfectly obvious that you're not," Jon returns snappishly, and for a moment he's the sneering archivist that he was right at the beginning once again. "You're covered in blood, you're shaking, you were clutching a knife like a life preserver and I can still barely get you to meet my eyes. Something is wrong, and I'm determined to fix it."

"Oh," he says mutinously, dangerously. "So you believe you can fix me, but not the world?"

"Martin-" Jon catches himself at the last moment, heaves a heavy sigh and fixes him with a searching glance that he wants to coil away from. "You're not scared. That's the truly strange thing. I would've expected you to be screaming in terror, traumatised and shaking from the brush with such danger, but… You're not."

He's so caught up in his own dangerous feelings, his own roiling misery, that he doesn't notice what Jon's doing until it's too late. He sits up sharply, terror finally shuddering through his body, and reaches for the man desperately. "Don't-"

"You're not scared at all," Jon says, barely more than breathes, and lays him bare. "The creature didn't approach you, but you approached it. And it wasn't a creature, but a man who has only barely stopped being a person."

"His name was Malcolm Church, and up to a few weeks ago he was an administrator in a small office. He wasn't a particularly good person, but nor was he a particularly bad one. He just existed, took up as small a place in the world as he could and was glad for it. When the ritual was read he was claimed by the Lonely, and cursed to wander unknown and friendless for eternity. A harsh fate, but not the harshest in this strange new world. A part of him was happy to be left alone."

"But you were not happy to leave him. You saw him from a distance, while my back was turned, and made a decision. You approached him, and you stabbed him in the side. He begged you to stop, his voice a harsh and croaking whisper after so long in silence. You ignored him, and stabbed him again in the stomach. You stabbed him and stabbed him until he was little more than a sack of meat, more suitable for the Flesh than the Lonely, and then you shoved his body away and sat in his cooling blood."

"And you felt… Nothing, besides a vague sense of disappointment. You took a man's life, and you still felt hollow."

"You were hoping that it would be different, you were hoping - however dully - that you would feel something. Guilt, preferably, but you were willing to accept joy too. It's been so long since you felt something. You hide it well, you don't think that Jon's noticed at all, but when Peter took you he broke something inside and you're not sure that you'll ever get it back. It always seems just out of reach."

"You killed a man, willingly and brutally, and you felt nothing at all. You're staring down the apocalypse, and you feel nothing at all. You'll probably meet your own end, and feel nothing. At. All. "

There's a long moment of stunned silence. Jon sags backwards, gasps for air as he always does in the aftermath of a statement. He stares at Jon, feels the imprint of the departed knife in his hand and the blood cooling on his skin and the dull weight ever expanding in his chest…

And suddenly he feels something. He feels _furious_. "I told you not to do that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Jon says, through obviously numb lips, and looks at him with wide and ever so shocked eyes. "Martin-"

"Shut up!" He snaps, and feels a cruel glee at how Jon blinks before he closes his mouth. Fury flows back into him like how blood flowed back into his hand, and it is _glorious_. "I told you not to look inside my head, I told you hundreds of times. And now you presume to lecture me about what you find there?"

Jon swallows, obediently doesn't say a word. There's horror in his eyes, yes, but also something else. Something furtively fascinated, that doesn't want to be dragged out into the light.

"I'm tired of pretending that everything is fine. I'm tired of pretending that everything is in colour, when I can only see grey," he growls, and reaches out for Jon recklessly. Grabs the man's wrists in a punishing grip, and pushes him steadily back into the blood. "I'm tired of not feeling anything, and keeping going anyway. I'm tired… And you're going to help me with that, Jon. "

Jon resists initially, as stiff as a board against him, but relents with a sob when he slides their mouths together. They tear their clothes away violently, not caring that they'll have to replace them later. He clutches bruises into Jon's sallow skin, draws a willing gasp with every single one. And by the time he gathers up the sticky red and uses it to push in, Jon is boneless beneath him.

It doesn't entirely bring back his emotions, but it's a start. The next time he'll actually fuck Jon on a corpse, and see if that does any better.


End file.
